Long Distance
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Takami sits up straighter in his chair, leans in over the edge of the desk, and then the video window opens onto his screen and there's Sakuraba, frowning concentration on the other end of the chat." Takami loves having his boyfriend in any format he can get.
Takami's waiting when the clock clicks over to seven. He has other things he could be doing - studying, primarily, or tracking down something to eat for dinner as a somewhat lower priority - but he's spent the last few hours reviewing his textbooks, and he's willing to sacrifice a few minutes of extra homework review to be waiting online when Sakuraba logs on. The other's icon is blank when Takami logs on, which isn't surprising; Sakuraba usually runs a few minutes late and signs in breathless and apologetic. Takami doesn't mind, not when he knows to expect it, and when the icon lights up while his clock still reads 7:00 he's pleasantly surprised. He sits up straighter in his chair, leans in over the edge of the desk, and then the video window opens onto his screen and there's Sakuraba, frowning concentration on the other end of the chat.

"Hey," Takami says, feeling himself start to smile with the wide helplessness that always strikes him when he sees Sakuraba. "I've got you."

"Hi," Sakuraba answers, his frown dissolving into a smile even though he's clearly still squinting at his computer screen. "I can hear you, just-" and then he blinks, the tension in his forehead vanishing into sudden, startled pleasure, and when he smiles his whole face lights up with it. "There you are."

Takami's smile is irrepressible, so wide he knows he looks foolish and so insistent he can make no attempt at all to hold it back. His heart is swelling inside his chest, pressing against his ribcage like it's trying to break free, the ache of affection so strong in him he's all but shaking with it. "Is your video working?"

"Yeah," Sakuraba says. The lighting through the webcam is oddly blue; it washes the gold in Sakuraba's hair to silvery-white, turns the warmth of his skin into something ghostly and paler than Takami knows it to be. He's still so beautiful Takami can feel it like a vice around his heart, affection pressing so hard in his throat that he can't speak for a moment. Luckily Sakuraba is talking, ducking his head and pushing a hand through the waves of hair falling across his forehead like he can hide the way he's flushed with happiness all across his cheeks. "Sorry, practice ran long, I thought I was going to be late again."

"You weren't," Takami says, and he can hear his voice dipping low and soft but he can't control the affection in his chest and can't strip the sound from his words. "Even if you were I'd wait for you."

"I know," Sakuraba says, lifting his head to smile at the screen again. He's looking at the monitor instead of into the webcam itself; it tips his chin down into a tracery of shadow, leaves Takami to watch the way his eyes go soft at the image of Takami's video on his own end. Takami is sure he's no better, between the smile he can't control and the warmth he can feel catching heavy at the corners of his eyelashes. "But I know you're busy. I just want to spend as much time talking to you as I can."

"Me too," Takami admits, the confession coming easy on the warmth in his veins. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Oh," Sakuraba says, his smiling tugging wider as he ducks into embarrassment once more. His hair falls over his face again; it's getting long, approaching the length it was back when he still did modeling regularly. Takami's fingers itch to touch it, to wind into the soft of the locks and hold Sakuraba still for a smile, for a kiss, for the press of lips to warm skin. "Really?"

"I always do," Takami says. He stretches his arm across the desk, lets his fingertips brace at the bottom edge of the monitor; it's a sentimental motion, absurd under the circumstances, but he can't help himself from even the illusion of being a little closer to Sakuraba's smile. "It's very distracting when I'm trying to pay attention in class."

Sakuraba laughs and tosses his hair back out of his face with a tiny, unconscious shake of his head. "Sorry," he says, even though he's smiling all over his face in a way that says he's far more flattered than apologetic. "Aren't your classes really hard?"

"They're quite difficult," Takami allows. "They don't give med students an easy time, that's for sure."

"I'm sorry," Sakuraba says, and now he looks sincerely contrite. "Should…" He trails off, frowning himself into conviction, and Takami knows what he's going to offer before he's put words to it. "Maybe we should cancel my visit next weekend."

"No," Takami blurts, and that was too fast and too desperate but he doesn't really care, not when Sakuraba is lifting his head and looking so painfully hopeful Takami can feel it knot in his chest. "No, no, it's fine, I'm keeping up and I can get ahead this week." He presses his thumb against the edge of the monitor, reaches up to adjust his glasses needlessly. "Please, I want to see you."

"As long as you're sure," Sakuraba allows, but his voice is strained on anticipation and Takami would be willing to give up a week's worth of studying for the sake of keeping that resonance of hope in Sakuraba's voice. "I don't want to make my boyfriend fail his classes."

"I'm sure," Takami says, his voice dropping into the weight of certainty while his thoughts are still skidding out on the sound of that possessive, on the note of that noun warm on Sakuraba's tongue. "I want you to come. I've been thinking about it for weeks, a break will be good for me." He pauses, takes a breath, lets the warm surge of pleasure press hard against his chest. "Your boyfriend?"

"What?" Sakuraba says. Takami can see his expression go unfocused as he rewinds through the last few seconds, can watch his eyes go wide with startled horror as he realizes what he just said. " _Oh_. Oh. _Shit_ , I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Takami laughs, because he's blushing but Sakuraba's worse, he's going so crimson it's spreading up to his hairline and past the cover of the hands he's clapped over his face. "That's what I am, isn't it?"

"It's my roommates," Sakuraba says, the sound nearly lost to the muffle of his palm over his mouth. He's so red he's nearly glowing; Takami is going darker just in sympathy, his skin flushing hot even as his self-consciousness fits itself into a laugh in his chest. "Sorry, I get used to them calling you that."

Takami's laughter fades, easing back into affectionate pressure that leaves no room for bubbling amusement. "You talk to your roommates about me?"

"Yeah." Sakuraba shifts his hands and lifts his gaze back up to the computer screen; his palms are still covering his mouth, and his cheeks are still scarlet, but Takami can see the shape of a smile not completely covered by the press of his fingers over his mouth. "Sorry. They don't know your name, they just call you my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend," Takami repeats, hearing the ordinary syllables go hot on his tongue and unfurling into something heavy in his chest, like the words have more meaning than he's ever granted them before. His blood feels carbonated, like it's fizzing in his veins and trying to bubble right past his skin; he's smiling around his blush, isn't sure he could stop if he tried. "I like it."

Sakuraba blinks. "You do?" His hands come down, dropping out of range of the webcam; when he leans in closer he's smiling, some of the stress in his shoulders bleeding off into a forward tilt like he's trying to press closer to the computer screen. "I thought you would mind."

Takami shakes his head. "No," he says, and his fingers come up at the edge of the computer monitor, skim against the bottom inch as if he can fit himself over the distance of miles to touch his fingers to the curve of Sakuraba's smile, to press friction against the soft of the other's lips. "No, I like it. I _am_ your boyfriend."

Sakuraba's smile is blinding. It lights up his whole face, crinkles in the corners of his eyes and sticks in his throat; Takami can hear the delight in his voice when he speaks. "Yeah. You are."

"And you're mine," Takami says, just to say it, just to have the words on his lips like the aftertaste of sugar clinging to his skin. "My boyfriend, Sakuraba Haruto."

Sakuraba ducks his head, hiding the flush of pleasure across his face under the fall of his hair, but the motion doesn't cover the spill of self-conscious laughter at his lips or the awkward pleasure in the way he brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Takami touches his fingers to the screen in the moment Sakuraba isn't looking at him, takes a breath that strains on the ache in his chest, and when he speaks his voice cracks at the middle, wobbling over emotion he didn't intend to share but can't even attempt to restrain once it's free.

"I miss you," he says, no teasing, no laughter, just sincerity hot and aching on his tongue. "I miss you so much."

Sakuraba lets a breath escape. His eyebrows draw together, knitting into a shadow of pain for a moment; when he lifts his hand Takami can't see the reach of his fingers, but he can imagine fingertips pressing to glass, can almost convince himself he can feel the warmth of Sakuraba's touch in the electronic heat of the monitor at his skin.

"I miss you too," Sakuraba says. "I can't wait to see you again."

Takami smiles. It's a strain, he can feel the effort it costs him to muster affection out of the ache of loneliness in his chest, but Sakuraba's looking at him, and it's warmth he wants to offer instead of the burden of absence.

"I know," he says. "Me too."

It's just a matter of waiting, in the end, and Takami has always been good at waiting.


End file.
